


Jasmine

by Res



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Wank!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-04
Updated: 2005-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Res/pseuds/Res
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why was it that when you cannot have something -- you only want it more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jasmine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentauror](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=silentauror).



> Disclaimer: Not mine! No money made! Please don't sue me, all I've got are the dogs and I don't think you want them.
> 
> Notes: Written for lj community hpdissemination's first fic exchange, for lj user silentauror.... I really don’t like Harry/Draco (edit to say, my tastes have changed...in large part to this fic. Made me see a new side of things!). Really. But this was interesting to write -- I hope lj user silentauror liked it! I’ve never written Draco before.

_  
**Jasmine**   
_

 

Why was it that when you cannot have something -- you only want it more?

He didn’t _really_ want Harry Potter -- really, he didn’t -- but somehow the bare thought that even if he _did,_ Potter would be _’unavailable’,_ made him desirable in an indefinable way.

Draco shifted further back into the jasmine trellis, bending slightly to duck under a bushy branch, pressing back into the greenery and using the sweet-scented foliage as a shield between himself and the courtyard.

Potter was out there, with his usual royal processional of blank-faced sheep. Even from here, Draco could hear the strident, nasal tones of that frizzy-haired cow, Hermione Granger, scolding Potter for somewhat or other. Draco snorted. Probably nagging about homework, although he didn’t see why she bothered -- everyone knew she let Potter and his Weasel copy from her papers. These public fits of self-righteous propriety didn’t fool anyone.

The Weasel’s red head suddenly obscured Potter’s ebony one from Draco’s view, and he hissed in annoyance, shifting until he could see around the screamingly orange hair.

Why _did_ Potter insist on surrounding himself with such low-class trash, he wondered.

Mudbloods and Weasels, filth the lot of them! Then again -- and Draco paused in his shifting a moment as the thought occurred to him -- _was_ there a pureblood in Potter’s dorm?

Well -- technically speaking, he supposed, pulling out his wand -- the Weasel counted as a pureblood; though the way that clan proliferated like fucking rabbits, he might almost have welcomed an infusion of mudblood into that line if it would slow down their idiotic rate of reproduction! And there was Long-butts-in -- but everyone knew _he_ was hardly better than a Squib, so it wasn’t as if he really counted.

As for the others, he mused, casting a small glamourie around himself and then adding a silencing charm to it to ensure his privacy -- well.... The one was a Mudblood out and out, and the other! Shame about that one, really. His ‘mam’ was from a good family -- what they were doing letting the silly chit go and soil the bloodline like that, Draco had _no_ idea, but clearly there was some insanity in that line, which was just too bad, but what could you do? Bad blood will out, as they say.

He sighed, leaning back against the trunk of the ancient jasmine and pulling his arms inside his robes. It was a bit chilly, still, he thought -- the winter had been particularly reluctant to move on this year -- and there was no point in wasting the warming charm he’d cast on his robes, privacy aside.

Casually, he pulled his zip down, eyes focusing on Potter again. Really, he couldn’t stand the prat.

One hand slipped into the fly of his trousers, wrapping around his cock and working it free of his pants. He hissed softly at the cold feel of his own fingers on the heated flesh, grimacing. Damnit. He hated cold fingers. Deliberately, he shoved his hand down farther into his trousers, working his fingers between his balls and the root of his cock, partially to warm them against his body there, partially as punishment to himself for not warming them first. His cock stiffened at the thought, stretching to fill its skin.

Draco closed his eyes a moment, leaning his head back against the rough bark of the jasmine as he sorted through his mental file of fantasies, feeling out his mood and trying to select just the right one.

The thought of punishment came back to him and he opened his eyes, casting a glittering grey gaze across the courtyard at his nemesis. Damn Potter anyway! Almost absently, Draco began to work his cock, long, slow strokes, warming to his subject. It was all Potter’s fault. If he’d just realised the value of the opportunity placed before him all those years ago --

Draco closed his eyes again, hand beginning to move faster as he pulled his attention away from the reality around him and focused on the images in his mind.

Damn Potter -- if he’d just accepted the hand Draco had held out to him, Draco would have been more than happy to show him the right and wrong of things. The image of Potter on his knees came to mind, and, slowly, almost lovingly, Draco imagined himself undressing the pale body, lingering over every detail as his cock grew harder in his hand, his breathing going ragged with need.

He could have shown Potter the ins and outs of popularity, and how to make use of all the attention focused on him -- shown him the _power_ of publicity -- could have shared that spotlight, as was his right, instead of seeing it all wasted on the Weasel and the mudblooded cow.

Draco grimaced again, baring his teeth at the thought, then deliberately forced his attention back to his fantasy, seeing his hand reaching out, fisting into the dark hair, seeing the green eyes widen, the pink mouth open....

“Ah!” he gasped, hips rocking forward suddenly as Draco-in-his-mind thrust his cock down a willing Potter’s throat.

“Ah, ah....” Panting, grimacing with the effort, hand closing tightly around the head of his cock in imitation of the hot, wet -- he paused, fumbling into his pocket for a small tube of lotion, nicked from Pansy’s bookbag at lunch, quickly slathering it over his hand, then reaching for his dick again -- wet mouth in his mind, hand jerking hard against the minute rocking of his hips, skin sliding wetly against skin.

Using his free hand, he shoved at his trousers, pushing them open and down on his hips, freeing up enough room to slide a hand in to caress his balls as his hips canted forward, stance widening. Draco whimpered softly, biting his lip as he gave a firm tug on the soft sac, fingers pinching hard in the wrinkled skin then rolling the soft balls of flesh gently in the palm of his hand. His cock was hard and aching as he ringed it with his fingers, sliding them up and over the head, twisting them around and stroking down the underside, pulling hard on the loose skin, hips jerking in a parody of sex, his mind filled with images of Potter’s naked body, in front of him, Potter’s head at his groin, Potter’s lips around his cock, his hands fisted in Potter’s black hair as he mercilessly fucked Potter’s mouth, body reaching for an orgasm that just won’t come.

With a growl, Draco poured more lotion into his hand, increasing the wet slickness, and glared through the branches of jasmine at the dark haired boy sitting, oblivious, on the far side of the courtyard. Closing his eyes, Draco changed his fantasy, hand working franticly against his cock as he imagined Potter naked, on all fours, in front of him. With a panted whimper, he imagined his hand reaching out, fisting in that raven-black hair, pulling, bending the other boy back, flexing under him as he thrust hard into the opening presented. He imagined a cry of pleasure/pain as he penetrated the hot, tight depths, his hand tightening on his own, real, flesh, fingers clenching into a ring on his cock, hips rocking into his fist in time to the pistoning hips of Draco-in-his-mind, slamming hard into the soft, vulnerable body below him.

Potter had all the privileges, privileges that should have been his! A broom in first year, Lockhart’s attention in second year, the media and the fawning in third year -- the Tri-wizard championship in their fourth year! None of it was deserved! The ‘Boy-Who-Lived’! Potter hadn’t done anything to earn this fame, this popularity, this attention, this _power_ that was given to him.

In his mind, Draco punished the boy below him with bites, with scratches, with hard, pounding thrusts into the soft ass. His hand flew on his cock, back and forth, twisting and pulling, fighting, clawing to reach the edge and dive off of it into orgasm, but somehow... he always fell short of his goal.

He _always_ fell short.

In Quidditch, in House points, in class, in every form of competition, of struggle with Potter, he always, always ended up on the bottom.

Finally, cock feeling raw, tender, he reached for the image that always pushed him over the edge, the only image that ever seemed to work, the one image that predominated his fantasies and stole into his mind at the most unexpected and inopportune times. With a frustrated gasp, a pained whimper, his mind slid into the image gently, almost as if relieved to finally, at last, come to rest where it wanted to be.

Draco-in-his-mind gasped and whimpered, back flexing as Potter’s hand fisted into white-blonde hair, pulling back hard, powerfully bending Draco’s body under him. Draco cried out softly, fist clenching painfully hard on his cock at the image of Harry thrusting into the body of Draco-in-his-mind, thrusting into _him_ , his cock spilling wetly into the inside of his robes, vision graying and head spinning at the force of his climax, legs trembling and then, slowly, giving way, bringing him to his knees in the jasmine.

End


End file.
